


Salacious Start

by greenfairy13



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, First Dates, First Meetings, Fluff, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Sex Shop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-08-19 05:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20204596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenfairy13/pseuds/greenfairy13
Summary: AU. Edward Nygma leaves Oswald Cobblepot for Mrs. Kringle. Heartbroken, Oswald tries returning the goods he bought for a very special night with his boyfriend. At the sex shop, he runs into sales assistant Jim Gordon and develops a massive crush.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything fluffy, light, or funny in ages. I hope you like this slightly cracky story :). If so, please let me know. I live for comments.

Her name is Kirsten, or Kristine, or Kristen. Oswald doesn’t know, doesn’t care. All he knows is that her name, whatever that might be, numbs him, makes him feel weak to the core. Red hair, wherever he spots it, feels like being engulfed in fire; he’s sick of red hair, and frumpy glasses, and pencil-skirts. Heels make him want to gag. 

Kirstine Krankle. That’s her name, probably, maybe, could be, doesn’t matter. Before that bigoted witch entered his life, everything had been fine. Deep down he knows it’s not her fault, but the wound is still too fresh, his love for Ed still too deep for him to think clearly. Only days ago, they had been in love, almost ready to go public, to tell the world that the entrepreneur Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot and his bookkeeper, Edward Nygma, are a couple. Of course, that was before Ed found Kirsten - and back to God, whatever that might mean. 

“You know, Oz,” he said, holding his hand too tightly for it to be comfortable, sweating profusely while doing so, “I’m not _really_ gay.” 

The table had been set for a romantic dinner. Olga, his housekeeper, had placed flowers on the dining-room table, candles had been lit, silver cutlery and crystal-glasses sparkled in the pale light. A metal clamp grasped Oswald’s heart and squeezed it tightly. 

“I’ve never been,” Ed carried on, and honestly, it would have been more merciful if he had just shot him into the guts. “You’ll understand, in my line of work, it wouldn’t look good if I was with a man.”

Oswald’s ears are ringing. _Not really gay? What's that even supposed to mean?! What line of work? He’s a bookkeeper, for fuck’s sake!_ Not that he’d ever say ‘fuck’ out loud, he’s way too dignified for that, but in his own head, he can swear all he wants. 

“I won’t deny it, I’ve been infatuated with you, but you’ll have to admit, we’re not suited for the long run,” Ed said, looking expectantly at the man who had only seconds ago been ready to spend his entire life with him. “It was a misstep, and I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he said gazing intently into his eyes. “But we can remain friends,” he suggested and Oswald wanted to vomit. 

“I understand,” he said instead, forcing a broad smile onto his face. 

And that was basically the story of how Edward Nygma walked out of his life.

Well, almost. 

There was still this little, discreet, white plastic bag in the corner of his bedroom. It should have been a surprise for Ed. 

Oswald knows Ed likes _it_ rough. He himself isn’t particularly fond of pain but who is he to deny Ed his pleasure? So one fine day he set out and bought shackles with pink plush covering the metal, a whip, and a blindfold. He wanted to give Ed a special experience, an unforgettable night. Now, those items just make him want to cry.

Entering the sex-shop once more, even weeks later, isn’t any easier than it had been the first time. His heart is beating too fast, his hands are shaking, and not even his sunglasses grant him any sort of privacy. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, hoping nobody he knows will recognize him here; despite the fact that those people would be shopping here too. 

He rushes through the aisles, hoping to find a salesperson soon. Oswald just _has_ to return the items before they drive him crazy. 

He bumps into a man built like a locker: broad shoulders, heavy biceps, perfect abs, gorgeous blue eyes, hair like the color of the sun. 

Swallowing heavily, Oswald reads the name tag: ‘Hi, I’m Jim,” it reads and there’s another button right next to it: ‘Don’t be shy, I’m bi.’

Oswald feels the blood rising up his cheeks as he takes the information in. His throat runs dry when the other man arches his eyebrow at him, staring him sternly down. All of a sudden, he can see the appeal of whips, shackles, and blindfolds with absolute clarity. And good graces, he _does_ feel shy. 

“Can I help you?” the man asks and if Oswald ever heard thunder, well, it’s not half as intimidating as this deep voice. It’s a low rumble, the sound of molten lava on its way to destroy entire villages. It's only purpose is to wipe out each and every resistance. Oswald’s knees go weak. 

“Yes,” he squeaks, having never felt smaller in his entire life. The man talking to him is a Roman god come to life, he’s Apollo, he’s Ares, he’s gorgeous, perfect, beyond words. 

And he?

He’s Oswald: too scrawny, too pale, too black-haired, and he’s got a disability. Ever since that damn car-accident, he limps, his knee is turned sideways at the weirdest angle and he can’t even outrun a snail. 

‘Hi Jim, I’m bi,” could probably outrun a sports-car if he wanted. 

Swallowing heavily, Oswald clutches the plastic bag tightly to his chest. And no, he’s definitely _not_ ogling the man, not a bit, no sir! He’s just very tastefully checking him out, that’s all. 

Jim rolls his eyes and waits for his tongue-tied customer to speak at last. 

“I’m certain you can help me with all kinds of sorts,” Oswald blurts out, mentally kicking himself how that came out. For a second, the employee looks taken aback but he composes himself quickly enough. By that point, Oswald’s cheeks probably resemble a wildfire. 

“I simply want to return some goods,” Oswald finally shares, slowly releasing his death-grip on his plastic-bag. In comparison to Mr. Ares, he sounds like a teenage girl talking to one of the Jonas brothers. 

“We don’t take anything back unless the sanitary-seal is still intact,” Jim informs him cooly while already holding out his hand to take the bag from Oswald’s trembling fingers. “You’ll understand that in this kind of shop we only resell stuff if…”

“I perfectly understand,” Oswald interrupts. “And I can assure you that my seal is perfectly undamaged, untouched,” he rambles on, fighting the urge to bite his fingernails. “You can totally check if you want,” he adds nervously. “In fact, I’d love you to see…”

Oswald thankfully snaps his mouth shut when observing Jim’s eyebrows slowly creeping up to his hairline. It takes him a moment, but then he finally understands. Slapping a hand over his mouth he just stares at Jim, mortified.

“That,” Oswald stutters. “That,” he soldiers on, stumbling awkwardly through the words, “that wasn’t me trying to tell you I’m a virgin.” “My seal is broken,” he rattles on. “I mean if I had a seal,” he adds, earning himself a bewildered expression from his newfound Roman god. 

Shaking his head, Jim takes the bag mutely from Oswald’s hands. “I think I’ll check for myself,” he mutters flatly and the raven-haired man prays for a hole in the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

One year! One year he had been with Edward, his first boyfriend, his only boyfriend. It just hits Oswald now how easy everything had been with him. Everything had progressed naturally, no awkward flirting on either part had been necessary, and thank god for that! He’s terrible at it! 

To Oswald’s endless mortification, Jim tips out his purchases over the counter and checks if the original packing is indeed still undamaged. “You still got the bill?” he asks, not a hint of emotion to his voice. 

“I, yes,” the embarrassed entrepreneur rasps out, checking each and every of his pockets and coming up with _nothing_. 

“Sorry,” Jim tells him flatly. “Not taking anything back without the receipt,” he adds with determination and if that attitude doesn’t make Oswald’s blood run hot and cold at once! This man is steadfast, he can tell, and it’s a massive turn on. 

But Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot isn’t used to taking orders. Especially not by some sales-assistant. He’s used to getting his will and right now, he wants to get rid of his Ed-memorabilia - right the fuck now. 

“I’m sure there could be something arranged,” he whispers conspiratorially once he found his voice again. He doesn’t know it comes off as slightly disconcerting. “I mean,” he continues, dropping his voice an octave in order to sound more persuasive, “it won’t be that hard for you to just issue an invoice for your, eh, services." Oswald’s eyes wander down Jim's chest, reading the name tag once more, and really, somebody should have told him to be more subtle. "The tip I’d leave would be as handsome as you if you know what I mean, Jim,” he adds with a clumsy wink, trying to sound flirtatious.

Jim drops the bag as if it had bitten him. “I’m sorry?” he asks slowly, sending off all sorts of alarm bells in the other man's head. “I think I’ve misheard you,” he says, drawing out the words very slowly, almost angrily. He straightens himself. With his back stiffened and his chest puffed out, Jim looks even taller - and a lot more intimidating. 

“I, no?” Oswald asks insecurely, shrinking another two inches. 

Shoving the bag back into the pale man’s hands, Jim backs away. Eyes narrowed threateningly, he goes into a lecture the usual sales assistant wouldn’t dare to give a customer. “The button on my chest might say ‘don't be shy’, but that sure as hell doesn’t involve proposing paid sex," he informs him bluntly. "It's just our way of encouraging our customers to ask questions. If you need someone to fulfill your _desires_,” he adds with a knowing twitch to his lips and simultaneously shoving the bag back into Oswald’s arms, I’d go to another _establishment_. But I’ll happily answer any question on penis pumps you might have.”

With those words, he turns on his heels, leaving a mortified Oswald behind. Again clutching the bag helplessly, he’s right back where he started with the only difference that he made a complete fool of himself. Cursing under his breath, he tries figuring out how that encounter could have probably gone _so_ terribly wrong. Worrying his lower lip, he considers calling after Jim but the man won’t even look into his direction. 

Shoulders slumped, Oswald decides to leave the store and wait until Jim finishes work. Well, in hindsight he really should have given that idea a second thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two should be up in the next couple of days :).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald behaves like a stalker and for some reason, it works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how creepy Oz used to be in season one? Good! Cause that was my inspiration for this second part. In RL this would be TOTALLY unacceptable and would not get you a date. But that's a fic here, okay? 
> 
> Oh, I'll have to add a third part. Sorry :/.

Oswald knows he messed up. But instead of doing the reasonable thing, walking back into the store and apologizing, he waits in the secluded alley where the sex shop’s exit is situated. It’s a hot summer’s day, the smell emanating from the waste containers is nearly unbearable, and the flies start torturing him soon but there are two qualities the raven-haired man possesses: patience and a fair amount of stubbornness. Besides, he might be a tad bit crazy. 

He’s lucky though. Not even two hours have passed when the newfound object of his desires walks out of the store. He’s dressed in a plain white shirt and tight-fitting jeans that make Oswald’s mouth water. His mobile is firmly pressed to the side of his face as he starts fiddling with the keys. 

“I’m telling you, Harv, this creep gave me the chills,” Jim groans into his phone. “I swear, he practically undressed me with his eyes.” He pauses to listen to whatever the person on the other end of the line might be saying. “Yeah, yeah, you might get a good laugh outta that but it wasn’t you who….”

Jim abruptly stops talking and freezes when his eyes meet Oswald’s. For a second, there’s a flash of panic crossing his features before his nostrils flare. Gripping the phone tightly, he struts toward the smaller man. He looks positively thunderous as if he was ready to grab Oswald’s lapels, pin him against the nearest wall, and shake him around like a rag doll. 

“Fuck!” he exclaims. “Harv, you won’t believe it! Count Dracula has been waiting for me behind the store,” he hisses into his phone. “If I don’t call you back in five minutes call the police.” He quickly checks Oswald up and down who meanwhile tries concealing himself in the wall behind him. “I don’t _ know _ if he’s armed,” Jim cries into the phone, “how would I?!” With those words, he hangs up and steps deep into Oswald’s personal space. 

“You’ve got five seconds to get away from me or…” Jim leaves the threat hanging as he cages the smaller with his body. 

Oswald swallows heavily when becoming aware of his mistake. Waiting in the shadows like a crazed stalker might not be the proper way to apologize - or to get his goods taken back. 

“Huh, hi,” he stutters out with a hysterical chuckle that sets Jim’s teeth on edge. In response, the other man simply raises his hand slowly to his throat. 

“Is this a joke?” he spats out, his fingers already twitching menacingly beside his neck. 

Too shocked to respond, Oswald simply stares into those blue orbs, torn between panic and a weird sense of excitement. Jim looks even better from up close - and pretty enraged. Oddly enough, he is sure the other man won’t hurt him, not if he doesn’t give him a good reason to do so. Jim has a certain aura, a charisma that simply emanates a feeling of safety. It’s absolutely absurd to think that, mainly because he doesn’t know Jim, but the businessman can’t help it. 

“I wanted to apologize,” he chokes out at last, holding both his hands up placatingly and simultaneously releasing the grip on his can. It drops to the ground with a heavy thud. Jim’s eyes follow the shiny walking-device as it rolls over the ground, making a wide circle in the process, finally disappearing behind the dumpster. 

Oswald’s mouth forms a perfect ‘O’, a disheartened, silent cry when taking it all in. This container is way too big and heavy for him to move it and too narrow to crawl beneath it - especially with his bad leg. Licking his lips nervously, he tries figuring out how to get home now that his cane is gone. 

His mind is still occupied when the sales-assistant releases his grip on him and without the extra support, he stumbles forward. Oswald would have hit the ground if the other man hadn’t caught him the last moment. Heavy hands steady his thin frame, holding him safely upright while he regains his balance. He can smell Jim’s cologne, a surprisingly well-balanced scent, equally fresh and heady with hints of pink pepper and sandalwood and for one glorious moment, that’s everything his nostrils are filled with. Forgotten are the dumpster and the waste covering the ground; suddenly this alley turns into the most beautiful, brightest place he’s ever been. Their eyes meet again and something changes in Jim’s expression. His shoulders slump and all of a sudden, the anger drains. Whatever he saw in Oswald’s face, it took the rage from his person.

With a heavy sigh, Jim leans Oswald carefully against the wall before he has another chance to trip over. “Accepted,” he mutters. Shaking his head in annoyance, he starts scanning the ground. He finds a stick and starts fishing for the cane. “There,” he growls once he retrieved it. Whipping out his phone, he then sends a message, probably to tell his friend Oswald didn’t murder him in a dark alley after all. 

The smaller man can’t blame him. In retrospect, his behavior had been anything but perfect. “Are we done then?” Jim grumbles, already turning to leave and Oswald panics. This is probably his last opportunity to mend this mess. 

“I’m usually not like that,” he squeaks out. 

“Like what?” the blonde snaps back. “Like a stalker?”

Oswald considers. Actually, he has absolutely zero experience to draw on so he isn’t really sure _ how _ he’s being perceived but he knows he wants to do better. He falls silent, clutches his cane tightly and stares at the other man like a kicked puppy.

“I sometimes cross boundaries,” he shares, crestfallen. “I’m just...I’m not really good at this.” Shrugging awkwardly, he begs Jim to forgive him. 

“And what is _ this _?” the sales assistant asks, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation. 

“Flirting?” Oswald offers insecurely and Jim freezes, shell-shocked. 

“_ Flirting _?” he echoes incredulously. Jim gapes at him for a moment before he practically starts howling. “I’ve been sure you wanted to murder me,” he wheezes out, clutching his belly and steadying his weight against the wall. “Seriously, you need coaching,” he laughs as he wipes his eyes and unsuccessfully tries leaving again. 

Yet Oswald is persistent - and irritating. Making up his mind, he hobbles behind the blonde as fast as he can. Jim has made it almost to the corner when the entrepreneur bumps into him in his haste. 

“One drink!” he offers frantically, a wide grin splitting his face. “In the name of our newfound friendship,” he suggests politely once he caught his breath again. 

Looking the limping man up and down, Jim takes in a deep breath. “There’s really no way to get rid of you, eh?” he snorts while the other man is still beaming at him, eyes shining almost as brightly as his perfectly polished shoes. 

“Absolutely not,” Oswald reassures and with a sigh, Jim surrenders. 

“_One _drink!” he growls menacingly. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald takes his chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I said two chapters, then three, now they will be four. But I'm having fun so *shrugs*

“Well, you wanted to give me some private lessons on flirting?” Oswald aks once they are seated, batting his long lashes shamelessly at the man beside him. 

Snorting, Jim takes the beer he’s being offered from his hands and takes a long swig. “I never said that,” he points out. “I said  _ somebody  _ should.” 

“Could as well be you,” he argues, cocking his head to the side with a little pout. 

“You know,” the sales-assistant starts, rolling the cold bottle between his hands, “when you entered the shop, I thought you’re pretty damn cute.” Oswald’s eyes lighten up at the compliment yet it’s a short-lived joy. “But unfortunately, you just  _ had _ to open your mouth,” Jim finishes with a little smirk. 

Grinning victoriously Jim says, “see? You blushed at the first part. If I had stopped right there, it would have been a perfectly good compliment.”

“But then you kept talking and ruined it,” Oswald chimes in excitedly. 

“You’re a quick learner,” the blonde praises. Taking another sip from his bottle, he winks at his dainty companion. “First lesson’s on the house. Oh, and don’t forget - the creepy stalker type never works.” 

Oswald blinks. “We’re having a drink, aren’t we?” 

Taken momentarily aback, Jim merely gapes at him before his lips curl into a bemused grin. “That we are.” Giggling softly, he orders another round. “Guess you earned yourself that,” he says while clinking glasses with the raven-haired man.

Grinning smugly, Oswald downs his whiskey in one go. Partially, to ease his nerves, partially because he had never been invited for a drink before and he needs to celebrate that fact. 

Shaking his head fondly, Jim gives him another lesson. “Don’t drink too much too quickly. One could try to hook up with you once your defenses are lowered.” 

“And if that’s exactly what I want?” Oswald suggests bluntly. 

Drawing his eyes together in concern, Jim takes a sip from his bottle. “Well, you don’t seem the type for…” His voice trails off as he blushes slightly. 

“For a one-night stand?” the entrepreneur finishes for him, tongue loosened by the alcohol. “People tend to misjudge me,” he mumbles angrily into his glass.

“Really?” Jim snaps back, arching an eyebrow at him. “And what about your judgment? What makes you think I’d be the type for a one-nighter?”

“I..” Oswald closes and opens his mouth helplessly. “You’re quite fit. You’ve definitely got great choice and opportunities,” he offers insecurely. 

Rolling his eyes, Jim raises his glass. “To the king of the backhanded compliment,” he grumbles sarcastically. “Wanna know what I think about you?” he asks, waving Oswald off when he tries to reply. “You bought a whip at the sex-store to surprise your boyfriend and when he dumped you, you tried bringing the goods back. And for whatever reason, you think I’d bed you so you can get over your ex if you offer me something worthwhile. That sound about right?” 

Oswald can’t find it in him to object so he merely nods mutely. 

“My only remaining question is, why would you think I’m a hussy?” Jim demands to know, tilting his chin defiantly. “Right!” he exclaims. “Cause I work at the sex shop. Tell you what, whatever your name is,...”

“Oswald,” he interrupts him quickly. “My name’s Oswald,” he mutters, averting the other man’s eyes. 

“Okay, Oswald. Only because I work at this shop, I’m not a slut. And taking care of my body doesn’t make me one either,” he states, tapping the other man’s chest slightly. “I’ve been engaged and it went south when I went to the police academy. Needed a job to pay my bills, too, therefore I’m away from home basically 24/7. Barbara didn’t understand,” he shrugs but Oswald still notes the flash of hurt crossing his face. “Right. Your sad little story,” he urges. 

Heaving a sigh, Oswald rubs his eyes. “Got dumped for another woman,” he shares with a pained grin. “And after a few months, I gathered the strength to return the goods I bought for my ex and there you are: looking dashing.” He plays with glass in his hands, lets it slide over the smooth surface of the table between them until Jim has no other option but to catch it or to allow for it to crash to the ground. 

“And so you decided I’d be the perfect rebound guy cause I’m just the sex shop dude, or what?” he huffs. 

“It’s not like that!” Oswald shrieks. “I...I...I didn’t know what I was thinking. I just thought you’re handsome and…” He’s unable to continue. Not with that stutter that always seems to torment him once he’s especially flustered. The last time he had been in such an embarrassing situation was when confessing his love to Edward.

“Lesson number three,” Jim continues, undeterred. “Don’t let your target notice you’re not really interested.” Patting his back gently, Jim gestures for the bartender to bring them another round. 

“But I’m really interested,” he protests, once the drink is securely in his hands. 

Huffing incredulously, Jim stretches his legs and contradicts. “Look at you,” he starts. “Nice suit, great hair, gorgeous face. Your whole demeanor screams ‘money’. So what could you possibly want with a sales assistant?” he challenges. 

“You could be more than only a sales assistant! You could work for me?” he suggests, already cringing once the words have left his mouth. 

Jim’s eyes snap up. “So you  _ really _ think I’m a hussy, huh?” he accuses. “Or you’re really willing to pay a lot for me. Guess I should be flattered,” he concedes with a defeated smile.

Oswald could smack himself. Whatever he says, it’s coming out wrong. He’s bashing a perfectly fine young man and not going anywhere. 

“You’ll make a pretty good detective one day,” he states earnestly. “You’re very perceptive,” he acknowledges. 

“Why, thank you,” Jim drawls. “The first sincere compliment. You’re adaptive after all.” 

“Why don’t you let me make it up to you?” Oswald proposes. “I’m a tailor. Cobblepot and Sons have been providing the forces with uniforms for decades. Once you’re an officer, I could tailor you a perfectly fitting uniform,” he suggests, earning himself another annoyed frown from his companion. 

“I’m not even an officer yet and you’re already trying to bribe me,” he tzk’s. “You’re definitely incorrigible,” Jim snorts. Getting up from his seat, he tries to leave but Oswald is tugging his sleeve, asking him silently to stay. 

“And if I told you I’m really fascinated with you?” he confesses at last. “You’ve been gruff, steadfast, unperturbed by my behavior. You! You said I’m gorgeous!” he tells him, jumping up from his spot and wincing when the pain shoots up his leg. 

“Well, you certainly are,” Jim declares, giving his leg a concerned glance. “And you must know you are,” he mumbles. 

“ _ Nobody  _ said that ever besides my mother!” Oswald states with an affirmative nod. “I’ve been called weird, scrawny, creepy, but never  _ gorgeous _ .”

“Well, then you’ve never looked into a mirror,” Jim states, sitting back down, he takes another sip from his bottle. “But you  _ are _ creepy. That’s for sure.” 

The blonde tilts his head back and Oswald simply watches how the liquid runs down his throat. Muscular shoulders roll, a flash of white teeth seems to illuminate the entire bar and Oswald pounces. In a split second, he imagines what it would feel like to be engulfed in those strong arms, how it would be if those teeth would bite lightly bite down on his skin and he takes his chance. 

One moment, Jim’s enjoying his beer innocently, the next, he’s got his hands full of a delicate, slender man who’s desperate to feel another human close. Maybe, he’s merely using Jim. Or maybe, he’s simply taking what he wants. But when it boils down, those things are practically the same and he doesn’t give it a second thought, just enjoys. 

Jim kisses back, despite himself, moans obscenely, once that smart little tongue enters his mouth, unable to resist that slight feeling of uneasiness and excitement Oswald provokes in him. He pulls him closer, hums when feeling the hardness pressing against his stomach. 

Untangling himself, Jim reaches again for his bottle, his life-line. Whatever they are doing, it’s not what he had been expecting when going to work this morning but it feels too good to just stop. Oswald feels giddy, victorious even but he wants another date. It shouldn’t stop here, it should start here, Oswald thinks. 

Detaching himself reluctantly from his possible lover, Oswald leans back, grinning like the cat who got the canary. “That was me asking for your number,” he explains lightly. Too dazed to argue, Jim gives it to him. 


End file.
